


Picture Perfect

by wilbell



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4328886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilbell/pseuds/wilbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter always thought of his and Wade's relationship like a piece of art - strong, lively, and endless. Every stroke told a new story, every color painted a brighter picture, and every detail was a new experience, some still waiting to be lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> This was just an excuse to test my smut writing skills after not having written it in years. I've discovered I can't write good smut worth a damn. Thank you Ryuuchan for beta reading this, you fore-loving communist.

Peter thought himself lucky, and he certainly wasn’t one for using the term loosely. Fate, destiny - those words all harbored similar terminology, their uses restricted to situations bound to happen, the universe wrapped in the seamless fabrics encasing their meanings. They were words contemporary romance writers used to lure people into dull plots and flat characters, sickly sweet and strikingly unoriginal.

A person had luck if they played the right card, if they purchased the winning ticket, or - by some great heaping of help only _luck_ could provide - met their perfectly not-so-perfect match. Soul mates and significant others don't come to exist in the world to fulfill a so-called "destiny”, to match up with another and make a nonexistent void fill with their presence. To meet someone who becomes special is luck. Happenstance, in finer words, expresses exactly that; everything to have ever happened in life, and everything that ever will, is due to luck.

No one wants to have restrictions, not even regarding whom they may be bound to meet, for better or for worse.

A free-spirit at heart, Peter thought along similar lines, the prospect of being grounded by rules and obligations both boringly dull and unattractively appalling. Peter wanted no limits, not in what he could do in his life, and so he came to an unofficial decree at some point, mentally concluding that anything that went on in his life, good or bad, wasn't because fate planned it out for him - rather, everything happened at the cost of his own actions.

Wade entering Peter's life was a part of his actions.

The foul-mouthed mercenary had never been bound to meet Peter, much less become a greater part of his life; the universe never mapped out a perfectly arranged set of events that would eventually lead up to where they were now. Peter fought crime while Wade dabbled into a bit of everything. Those decisions were their own, no interfering done by any supernatural force of nature. The way they controlled their own fates was the reason behind their meeting and everything afterward, luck being the generous mastermind behind it all.

Luck had more in mind than a simple, standard relationship between the two of them though.

Time extended onward, changes in the dynamics of Peter and Wade's interactions growing stronger, its roots planting themselves deeper into the malleable soil of their personalities, feelings. Annoyance morphed, anger dimmed, and suppressed laughs suddenly weren't so suppressed any longer.

Luck gave out to love.

So, yes, Peter believed in the force of luck over anything else said to be a greater, stronger impact on life. Destiny and fate never gave him much, but luck gave Peter more reason to keep trying. More often than not, things go wrong - friendships drift apart and people die just as seasons pass. On those few occasions where events seem to flawlessly fall into place, pieces snugly connecting with their neighbors, luck had to be credited for crafting a extraordinarily done puzzle that only depicted a full, stunning picture.

One of the best pictures luck ever created was, in Peter's doubtless mind, him and Wade.

Love was a beautiful picture, more gripping than a shimmering golden sunset, colors a vibrant mix of all emotions experienced between the two of them, ranging from red to blue and back again, fluctuating constantly but never wavering. In every stroke of paint delicately placed on their picture was a new tale, adding to the ever-growing story of Peter and Wade. It might have been acrylic, as it was strong and opac and clear as day, so obvious that even darkness couldn't block the view. Peter hoped it was. He wanted his picture with Wade to be seen at any time, never obscured from sight. Lasting forever and never fading was more than ideal to him.

Peter, though content with every stroke of paint he earned on his and Wade's abstract piece of artwork, wished to coat it with even more, his desires nothing short of experiencing all he could with Wade, making the already impressive picture painted of their relationship a masterpiece.

There was always room to add more, to add on to a piece, to make it bigger and more beautiful. Love could never be overdone - it simply was. It grew and grew until it coated the canvas of life with a thousand more colors than the limits of a rainbow. Love was the sea and the sky; moonlight and sunbeams; viridian forests and vermilion deserts. The heat of summer and the cold of winter only reinforced the sturdy craftsmanship of love, lava and water giving way to new, fine land.

The streaks of color in a relationship were what made the chemistry special. They existed to fill a canvas to the very edge, leaving no space translucent, colors coated over each other again and again, the texture rippling off the flat surface, apparent and so _there._  

Sometimes, rarely, the vivid colors spilled over the edges of the canvas, uncaring of any proclaimed borders, free to roam on their own.

If Peter had the gall to control the delicate paint brush of his life, he wouldn't hesitate to let the paint spill, to see where the abstract rolls took him. As long as Wade was at his side, Peter was ready to experience the most lively palette ever created.

.

The question - or what was supposed to be a question when Peter first started thinking of the request - came out one day when he sat on his apartment's couch with Wade, the background noise of the television sounding distant in his thoughts.

Peter hadn't meant for bluntness. It was his own fault, he knew, for being so direct when he quite in fact wanted the opposite - something subtle would've sufficed nicely - though that hardly made his situation any better.

Originally, Peter had intentions to ask under different circumstances, ones that were ultimately leading up to the moment in some way or another. Maybe Wade would have done an exceptionally nice thing and Peter, in response and looking to show his gratitude, would've asked. Perhaps Peter could've been kissing Wade and, wrapped up in all the passion and love, the event would've played out naturally, nevermind the fact being that Wade said, way back when they first began their unique relationship, he wouldn't do anything without Peter's spoken permission.

Wade could be so gentlemanly sometimes. It was almost laughable, if it weren't for Peter finding it completely endearing.            

Despite the abundance of planning and mental preparation Peter had over the matter, events did not work out how he predicted them to. Peter wanted special, and that was the one desire he didn't obtain, not with how he went about asking - or declaring - the matter.

"I want you to make love to me."

If there was an award for the most unnecessarily sappy line ever said at a completely irrelevant time, Peter wasn't hesitant on betting the exposure of his secret identity to all of New York on the terms that he'd win first place, hands down. Peter could have cringed after the words registered. He might have, in fact, though he was having a hard time concentrating on what was happening when he was severely wishing he could sink right into the couch and escape everything on his plane of existence.

Especially Wade's widening eyes, which were now switching their focus from whatever program was on to Peter, who didn't do much to meet the dilated pupils fixated on him. 

"Peter?"

Wade kept his eyes trained on Peter, who only did his best at feigning ignorance, reluctant to look at the older man. He shouldn't have spoken so rashly on that topic, for now he was at a loss.

Embarrassment had Peter sharply shutting his eyes, brilliant red flushing his cheeks as he buried his face into one of his hands. Unfortunately, sitting directly next to Wade only allowed for minimal cover.

Why did he _say_ that? There was no "moment" to be caught up in, no reason to voice anything along those lines when they were doing nothing but relaxing on Peter's couch, barely even talking as the television played in the distance. Gourmet chocolates and exquisite flowers could've - probably would have - ignited the right spark, set the tone to an overbearingly romantic one where neither could resist the pull back to the bedroom, thoughts swimming in waves of passion galore.

Whatever Peter had sparked, with his sudden direct statement, was not that.

A hand cautiously touched his shoulder, fingers light, inquisitive. Wade no doubt saw Peter as a deer caught in headlights, torn between running out the door and away from his problems or staying so impossibly still he had a chance of morphing out of existence. He hit the situation at point-blank with that assumption.

Peter tensed when he felt Wade's fingers on him. A regretful sigh fell past his lips as he rubbed at the painful creases in his forehead, worry evident in his movements. Knowing ignoring Wade simply wasn't an answer, Peter slowly drew his hand away from his face, turning back to look at the bemused expression etched onto Wade's face. His mouth was a thin line, ever so slightly turned down at the edges; his eyes were puzzled and looked painfully drawn together, meeting Peter's own with an unsure stare.

Peter felt a strong twinge of regret, guilt weighing his chest down. He indirectly let the situation fall into Wade's hands at his silence, and he was pretty positive Wade wasn't faring well without any words from Peter, not one for doing too swell under pressure.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Peter exclaimed, hastily jumping up from the couch and reaching for Wade's statue-still form - and then drawing back like he'd been hit, grasping his arm against his chest, expression panicked. He faltered, teetering on the edge of speaking, though looking for all the world in a frozen horror, which was truer than he'd prefer it to be.

Wade, far past normal levels of concerned, slowly lifted his arm out to Peter, as cautious as he'd be around a feral animal. Peter tried not to freak again, refusing to step back when he felt Wade's hand close around his arm. He swallowed.

"I'm-"

"Don't say you're sorry." Wade managed to speak over Peter, cutting him off from whatever because he could really care less. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, so please, just, don't."

Peter was close to protesting, but nothing came out of him when he opened his mouth, so he kept quiet for a minute, dejected. The hand around his arm felt nice, and he really wasn't going to give Wade reason to move, needing a source of comfort for his embarrassment - or mortification, depending on how much shame he felt racing through his insides.

"I didn't mean to say it like that,"    

“It doesn’t matter how you meant to say it,” Wade voiced, making Peter shift in anticipation. Wade shook his head, “And I think that came out wrong. Peter, I mean, I would love to do that with you.”

Peter stared at him, at a loss for words. Wade attempted a strained smile. “I, well, of course it depends on you - what you’re comfortable with, and all. I didn’t mean to thrust anything on you and-”

“Wade,” Peter interrupted, uncertainty wavering as he realized just how awkward Wade felt, his nervousness enough to mirror Peter’s. “I do want this. With you.”     

Reaching out for Wade’s hand, Peter clumsily took ahold of it, anxious but sanguine. No matter how they came about this, Peter was positive on what he wanted. His lips pulled into a smile when he felt Wade return the grip.

“We should probably move this to the bedroom, huh?” 

.

Peter fumbled awkwardly as Wade's calloused fingers ghosted over his skin, mouth open in a faint gasp, breath practically nonexistent. He felt his eyes fall shut, the skin of his forehead wrinkling in concentration from all the new sensations washing over his body, stimulated and sensitive.

Wade wasn't saying much, thoughts clouded, jumbled indecipherably together. Peter felt similarly. His body had never been exposed to any treatment beyond gripping touches and sensual kisses; now, he had to naively follow the actions of a road he'd never taken, learn an environment completely foreign to him. The newness was fresh, crisp forest air and the exhilaration was fast, thrilling flying, like jumping off of a skyscraper.   

His torso was bare, shirt having been removed and tossed away to some place that was far out of the world he currently shared with Wade, where sense were heightened and touches inexcusably unbearable. The exposed skin of his upper body prickled with goose-bumps wherever Wade's light brushes traveled, leaving behind bumpy trails and cold patches. For all the body heat in the room, Peter felt unreasonably chilled, freezing with the anticipation of what was happening, what was going to come _next._

Wade halted his painfully slow motions, hand resting sinfully still on Peter's abdomen. Lean muscles rippled beneath exposed skin almost painfully, restlessly flexing with the weight of Wade's hand. Peter gasped airily when the pressure on his stomach increased, Wade's rough hand pushing down against his smooth skin, firm but gentle, making him arch into the touch automatically. His senses felt like they were on fire when Wade rubbed his thumb across a patch of shivering muscle, sparks igniting his insides in mere seconds, coherent thoughts melting right along with his body.

Peter must've been making a face, because the fiery feelings stopped at Wade's halt in movement, eyes gazing into Peter's slowly opening ones, a hint of concern apparent in his look. "You okay, Peter? Do you want me t-"

Furiously shaking his head, feeling for all the world crushed under a cinder block, Peter let out a garbled reply, "No, no, I'm fine. Really fine. Just please," he breathed, inhaling staggeringly and speaking out in an exhale, "don't stop."

Skin drawing tight over his eyes, Wade looked like he wanted to persist in convincing Peter that they _didn't have to do it_ and _everything would still be fine if he wanted to quit._ Well, if Wade thought that, Peter would unfortunately have to disappoint.

"Wade, I wasn't joking when I said I wanted this, and I _swear_ if you keep asking me if 'I'm sure' I will honestly burst into flames. I'm not kidding." Peter met Wade's dubious expression with a halfhearted glare. His intensity towards the matter aided in his distraction, causing a startled cry to slip from his mouth as Wade, in one fluid, unexpected motion, moved his hand down to fondle Peter through his pants. All the hesitancy Wade had a moment ago seemed to vanish, a pompous smirk now playing on his lips.

"God, Wade." Peter scowled, though he wasn't sure he meant it. He probably didn't.

Wade actually had the gall to laugh. "Weren't expecting that, were you? I'm not the type of guy to ask for permission once it's granted, in case you haven't deduced that one, Sherlock."

Peter snickered. "You actually get permission?"

"You're an asshole."

Wade's choice of words couldn't have made a better retort. "Really? You choose to say that at a time like this?" Peter guffawed, one of his hands shooting up to mask the obnoxious laugh, doing a bare minimum to muffle it, effort blatantly half-assed.

A scarred patch of skin where Wade's eyebrow would've been rose, sardonically amused. "Are those the sounds I'm supposed to get turned on by? Because if we're in the middle of this thing and you let loose one of those then I might actually have to get a video camera in here. If I uploaded this onto a major porn site how many hits do you think it'd get? I mean, personally, I'd click on a video whose title was 'Man-Passable-For-A-Teen-Boy-Bleats-Like-A-Goat-When-Climaxing.' I'm not too sure about you, though. I don't take you for that kind of guy."

Peter groaned. "You're joking."

Wade shrugged, complacent. "Afraid not, sweetheart. Now," he removed his hand from its inappropriate hold, leveling it with Peter's chin, "would you like to get started?"

For the umpteenth time that evening, Peter had to suppress the temptation to yell. "It's not like I'm waiting for Christmas. Figured you'd get that already," he replied, frustration marginally held back. Wade was taking his achingly slow time, preoccupied with the fun of teasing Peter to do anything else. Honestly, Peter loved Wade, but sometimes he really didn't have the patience for dealing with his vexatious shenanigans.

The protest on his lips slipped away in the next moment. Wade, no longer babbling inconsistent nonsense, pressed his mouth to Peter's, drastically changing the mood from seconds ago. The hand next to Peter's face gripped his chin and tilted it upward, easing the kiss into a comfortable pressure, lips rubbing gently over each other.

Fingers traced a myriad of organic designs over Peter’s flesh, body highlighting, misplaced blotches of pink appearing under swirls and curves, decorating the pale skin with free-flowing blushes. Red heated Peter's cheeks as Wade cupped them, the rubbing slowing but not stilling. The scratchy, rough texture of the fingers on his face made Peter push up against Wade's hold, tactile stimulation enough to make the younger gasp into the kiss, his own arms winding themselves around Wade's neck, pulling him closer.     

Thrusting hips met Peter's, and a burning sensation rocketed through him. He felt hot, the heat in his body enough to blur his mind until it subsided, lingering only at his groin. He shifted uncomfortably.

Wade pulled away from the kiss, panting, before crashing his lips back down onto Peter's, giving the other no time to think as he licked along the pink flesh, relishing in the shaky movements below him. Peter shivered at the feeling Wade's tongue evoked, and certainly didn't protest when the attention moved away from his lips and to his mouth, saliva mixing with his own, his tongue engrossed with another. He felt breathless and elated, on and beyond cloud nine, swirling in a haze of _Wade, Wade, Wade, Wade._

Hands groped at his shoulders and chest, working their way down, stopping at intervals to dust themselves over Peter's nipples or run over the outlines of his ribs, offering him more pleasure each time, enough to make Peter feel like he was going to burst with the blood sweeping through his veins. He unhooked one arm from Wade's neck, bringing it down to grab at the white shirt that blocked Wade's torso from his touch. Once Wade broke from the kiss long enough to get a focus on his shirt, Peter helped him tug it off, throwing the ratty garment aside and immediately diving back into the kiss not a second later, his hand now able to mirror Wade's in carnal, palpable gestures.

Peter had made out with Wade before, going further than "just kisses," though never so explicitly. Never had there been so much skin on skin contact, both so eager to feel the other. Peter never felt rutting hips against his, desperate for more friction. It was way beyond anything Peter did before with Wade, exceeding any and all things Peter ever knew, tentative touches and lustful make out sessions included.

Feeling Wade's scarred skin beneath his fingertips made Peter feel like he accomplished an amazing feat, as Wade normally wasn't too keen on showing his marred body off to the world, or even to Peter. He remembered, back when they were first getting to know each other, Wade made it a point to never show his face around him, resulting in them having to socialize while masked. Peter wore his for secrecy; Wade wore his out of fear. A lot of trust and convincing went down on Peter's part to have the other show him his face, but it was all more than worth it.

Peter loved Wade's face. He loved every inch of him. Spending the rest of his life just simply looking at Wade would be a good enough life for him.

An unexpected hand slipping below his boxers elicited a jerk from Peter, surprised enough to draw away from the mouth hovering over his. A smirk curled over the lips.

Wade, not renowned for his mercy at all, gave Peter no time to adjust before his hand wandered further down, skimming across smooth, pearly skin, there but not nearly enough. Peter threw back his head, colliding softly with a pillow when that touch reached down exactly where he wanted it to, fingers just barely ghosting over him, a taunt obvious in the way Wade smiled, totally conceited and eyes aglow with laughter.

Peter, wanting to frown, couldn’t find the will to cooperate, muscles unresponding to his notions, his face too contorted in shocked pleasure to twist any other way.  

He grabbed hurriedly at the sheets a moment later, mouth gaping open as Wade's hand steadily started stroking, feeling himself harden in response. Peter couldn't believe how fast things were escalating, new territory practically being shoved down his throat.

Peter flushed - now was _not_ the time to be thinking about things getting shoved down throats, even if he wouldn’t mind in the slightest.   

A choked moan fell past Peter's lips, the feeling of Wade's fingers ghosting over the tip of his length too new, too alien, too erotic. The reality of what was going on suddenly slammed into Peter, hitting him harder than, well, he was, at present. He and Wade were in the middle of foreplay, about to have sex, and _how was he not freaking out right now._ Peter had never gotten a hand stuffed down his pants before tonight - the concept of something bigger came with a feeling Peter usually reserved for haunted houses, one that screamed "run if you know what's good for you." And he kind of did want to bolt off the bed, slam the bedroom door, and never throw a backwards glance. He couldn't help it.

Still, all the same, Peter felt a pull to stay, falling to putty at Wade's every skilled, careful touch, body jelly under the exhilarating new wonders. Having Wade touch him where no one had before was like ordering a new flavor of ice cream, discovering that he really enjoyed how it made his tastebuds buzz with satisfaction, enamored with the sweetness of the treat.

And Wade's hand on him, stroking him, was definitely a treat.

Peter's pants were completely stripped away by the time he started focusing again, mind still hazy but not as distracted. He pulled hard against Wade's back, lowering him down so he could succeed in mashing their lips together, tongue pushing into Wade's mouth without hesitation. A muffled groan from Wade passed between their lips, nonplussed - Peter gripped him with more force, adamant on showing Wade how this was what he wanted, needed, craved, and he wasn't backing out.

Stronger, surer strokes were Wade's response. Peter cried into the kiss, needy, no longer giving a damn about how he acted because _who cares, we're about to have sex._

Peter couldn't stifle the whine that fell into the kiss as Wade removed his hand, trailing his fingers over Peter's thigh and up to the dip of his stomach. Wade reluctantly ceased kissing him, and Peter gazed at him with unfocused eyes, a question forming on his tongue.

Wade shushed him, dragging his thumb across Peter's lips. "Do you wanna move on now? I'm-"

Peter batted lightly at Wade's hand, almost smiling. "You know I do," he replied, brown eyes bright, and flicked a hand in the direction of his drawer. "In there. I already bought stuff."

Wade snickered and Peter had to remind himself that punching your boyfriend when he's about to have sex with you is not an appropriate reaction, Parker, don't you dare do it.

"You've been planning this?"

Peter shook his head the best he could whilst painfully aroused, which only managed to make him look like he was nuzzling the bed. "I just, ah, wanted to be ready for whenever we . . . did this," he averted his eyes, bright red flushing his cheeks, embarrassed by his words and how uncalled for his reaction was in their current position. Wade now had a wrapped condom and a small bottle of lubricant in hand, and was staring at him, curiously amused.

"Are you sure you're sure, Peter?" Wade had to have been spiting him at this point. Peter nudged him with his leg, face pensive. He kept his eyes on Wade as the other nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders and, with speed Peter nearly yelled at, yanked off his boxers, leaving him - for all meanings of the word - exposed.

Peter blinked, momentarily stunned, but a subtle _click_ brought his attention to Wade and the bottle of lubricant, now open and leaking as Wade squeezed it experimentally. Peter tried to keep his mind distracted by what was going to happen, and not what was currently happening - Wade smearing lube over his fingers and looking way too pleased about himself. Even in bed, he still managed to summon his raw humor. Peter couldn't say he'd been expecting much else.

The bottle dropped soundlessly near Peter's head as Wade finished coating his fingers, them decidedly slick enough after Wade thoughtfully rubbed them against each other. His other hand found a place on Peter's chest, absentmindedly rubbing it. Peter leaned into the soft touch, blessedly content, though the anticipation was worrying at him.

"I need you to relax for the next part," Wade raised his non-slippery hand to Peter's face, cradling his cheek and leaning in for a chaste kiss, the pressure behind his lips barely there, ghosting over Peter's pink ones. His other hand felt its way down his body, and Peter shifted as the back of Wade's hand touched his thigh, its closeness surprising. Wade's thumb rubbed over the sensitive inner skin and Peter hummed in subdued bliss, an easy smile drifting across his face.

Peter's content smile flickered at the presence of Wade's slicked finger slowly slipping inside, pushing past tight ridges of muscle and making him groan, slightly uncomfortable, though mostly unfamiliar with the feeling. It wasn't a lot of stretching - one finger was hardly an inch - but Peter had never been particularly interested in intimacy up until dating Wade, so he didn't have a lot of experience in the field of having something shoved inside him.

A movement from Wade's part came and Peter had to bite down on his lip, eyebrows downturned. He didn't feel any pain at the small thrusts, only an apparent awkward stiffness that he couldn't manage to lock in the back of his mind. Then Wade started talking, almost absentmindedly, as he moved, drawling on about how vital trust had to be to do this and if Mexican for dinner would fit the mood.

Peter laughed, and the gravity of what was happening slipped through his fingers like sand through a sieve, worries running out of his head in shameless giggles. Wade babbled on, a bounce in his voice, like hearing Peter's laugh was enough encouragement in itself.

By the time Peter cared to remember all of what Wade was actually doing, three scarred fingers had him carefully stretched open, a dull burning sensation slipping away into a curious tingle, and then - sudden pleasure, barely there but impossible to ignore. Peter squirmed on the bed sheets, hands flexing on the soft fabrics, overcome with the euphoric foreign stimulus. Wade mimicked the motion again, none too ignorant of how Peter was being affected by his movements; he made it his best effort to make the experience amazing, and he was going to absorb every ounce of information he could on what was good for Peter and what was _really very good_ for Peter.

And, judging by Peter's uncontained moans, Wade's fingers safely fell into the _really very good_ category.   

Wade, however much he loved having Peter as a writhing, breathless mess beneath him, had to eventually stop, removing his fingers with minimal protest on Peter's part, mostly due to the younger having a mind that was still attempting to process and analyze the newfound hormones coursing through his scarcely-ever-touched-in-an-intimate-way body.

How happy a day it was to finally falsify that statement.

"I recommend flipping over," Wade advised, resting a hand on Peter's hip, "First times are usually easier on your knees-"

"I don't care."

Wade blinked. "Pardon?"

Peter would be scoffing if he wasn't so unbearably hard and needy for Wade to just _get started already because I really don't know how much longer I'm gonna last without having you up my ass, so help me._ "I _said_ I don't care if it's easier on me or whatever. I know you care for my well-being and all but not doing this face-to-face is something I was hoping to stay away from," Peter admitted, quieting as he finished, wondering if that was a little too on the mushy gushy, lovey dovey side. "I just . . . want to look at you."

Peter chewed at his bottom lip, perturbed by Wade's lack of words.

Then.

"Oh my God, you're killing me, Peter!" Wade practically shouted, beaming more happily than, well, Peter had ever seen, eyes lit up in glee and looking down at Peter like he was some otherworldly deity. Peter grinned back and took Wade's hand.

"Now would you mind?" The words were hardly a second out of his mouth before his legs were being hoisted over Wade's shoulders, lifting him slightly off the bed. Peter caught himself in a gasp. He shifted at the press of something blunt and the dawning of _oh this is really happening now, huh?_

Wade's hand gripped Peter's, now reassuring, as his other hand settled on his hip, firm and present and everything Peter could wish for when Wade gave him one last elated smile and pushed forward.

Peter immediately grunted, clenching his eyes shut and tensing. Wade was barely moving on top of him, hardly even in, and yet Peter was letting anxiety get the better of him. Peter relaxed, breath evening.

"Peter?"

"I'm fine," It was Peter's turn to reassure. He flashed a smile. "I love you, Wade."

If Wade was still iffy about continuing, any and all resolve he had to halt their activities fell there. A thrust met Peter's words, and a slowly intensifying burning soon followed, hitting him with undiscovered pain and mind blowing fullness. He was stretched further than what Wade's fingers offered, but none of the discomfort had any true impact - seeing Wade's face, feeling him inside of him, took his nerves by storm, sending a direct signal to his brain screaming _Wade._

Another few thrusts had Peter fumbling near pleasure.

Wade was thoroughly steady and gentle, his hips firm in motion while also moving mindfully, concern for Peter at the forefront of his thoughts, leading him on to have Peter gasping in a euphoric reverie, miles away from any smidgens of pain - or discomfort at all, so long as he could help it.

Peter miraculously didn't tear through the bed sheets, which he gripped with alarming force, strength breaking out over the stimulation of sex, too caught up in the moment to really care. He thought he might crack open if things got anymore intense, and yet he was practically yearning for Wade to go faster, wanting more every time he felt his blood rush at each thrust. It felt like bright lights were flashing through his mind, highlighting the backs of his eyelids when he blinked, drowning out whatever before prevented the situation from turning into full, exhilarating swing. A lever was flipped in Peter's mind, and he was in no rush to bring it back down.

Having a rainbow array of colors dance and swirl across his vision was an animated experience, the passion effervescent in touch, tickling him at the brush of every motion. Nothing was muted, nothing dulled, all vibrant and powerful, more lively than the downhill drop of a roller coaster. Peter loved it.

Wade was everywhere, all at once, and Peter doubted anything in his life could even rival this. Making memories with Wade - intimate memories - was amazingly freeing, his imagination liberated from any barriers, able to create a masterpiece of a picture, the picture he wanted.

Peter moaned, the pleasure burning and fulfilling, ultimately making him feel a second away from bursting. The friction of skin on his length made him bend his back into a smooth arch, Wade muttering something above him, his tone jovial. Peter grunted out, "W- _ade_ ,"

He could feel the pressure winding up in his stomach, the colors swamping his vision, senses brimming with arousal. Peter came with gratification, twisting the bed sheets with tense fingers, head flung back and mouth gaping, breath rushing in and out. His eyes were closed when he felt Wade give out above him, frantic movements dying down until Wade dropped down next to Peter, completely spent. Peter smiled.

"Invigorating, huh?" Wade huffed, in the midst of regaining his breath. Peter saw crinkles at the corners of Wade's eyes from a huge, dopey grin that overtook his face. "Do those spidey powers of yours increase your libido? Because we can totally-"

"Stop," Peter pushed a hand against Wade's mouth, face pink as Wade's muffled laugh broke through.

Peter yelped as he was suddenly yanked onto Wade's chest, hands comfortably gripping his hips. "Please, I can hardly contain myself around you," said Wade, wide-eyed and sincere. Peter rolled his eyes, but his expression gave enough of his happiness away.

"You're such a sap."

Wade winked. "Only for you, Pete."

Peter welcomed the warm feeling buzzing through his body, burying his head into Wade's shoulders, flushed scarlet but more content than he'd ever been. "I'm glad. Love you, Wade."

Peter felt Wade's cheek stretch back into a grin.

"Love you too, Peter."


End file.
